The Boston Connection
by Pat1
Summary: Frank and Joe Hardy get a new neighbour. Who is it and will a mystery ensue?
1. Default Chapter

Frank and Joe Hardy get a new neighbour.  Who will it be?  Will a mystery ensue?

Disclaimer:  I don't own any of the Hardys.

            Eighteen-year-old Frank Hardy got out of the shower one early Monday morning and went to wake up his brother.  He opened the bedroom door.  The radio alarm was playing, but Joe slept on.  Frank walked over and pulled the covers off his blond head.  He shook Joe's shoulders.  "Wake up, Joe, wake up."  Joe mumbled a reply.  "Wake up."

            Joe rolled over and sat up.  "I'm awake already," he complained.

            "And good morning to you, too," commented Frank.  He never understood why it took Joe so long to get up in the morning.  "Oh, and I saw the new nanny next door, taking the kids to school."  He left the room.

            Joe sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the doorway.  The Hardys' next-door neighbours had been called away on some project suddenly, and apparently they had hired a nanny to take care of their two boys.  Frank and Joe had speculated in great detail about whether the nanny would be an old bag of a lady, or whether she might be a young, beautiful college girl.  Their father's sister, Aunt Gertrude, had overheard the conversation and pointed out that the nanny could be male.  "That wouldn't be any fun at all," Frank had said.

            "It'd be better than another Aunt Gertrude," Joe had pointed out.

            And now the new nanny had arrived, and Frank had seen it, and wouldn't tell Joe who it was.  Joe sighed and went to the bathroom.

            As the Hardys drove home from school, Joe continued pestering Frank about the mysterious person next door.

            "Tall?  Is she tall?  Is he short?  How about fat?"

            Frank shook his head and smiled.  "Mom said this morning that she'd make cookies or something that we could take over to welcome the nanny.  We could do that at about four o'clock.  To make sure that they're home from school and all."

            Four o'clock rolled around, and not a moment too soon.  The brothers, plate of goodies in hand, walked next door and rang the doorbell.

            Frank could hear Patrick, the nine-year-old, shouting.  "I'll get it!"

            "No!" shouted another voice, a few years older.  "Let Lach get it!"

            Joe looked at Frank.  "Lach?  Is that a girl or a guy?"

            "You'll see."  The door opened partway, and Patrick's face appeared.  

            "Hello," he said.

            "Hey," said Frank.  The James family had lived in the neighbourhood for three years, but they didn't really get to know their neighbours very well.

            "Hi," said a female voice.  Joe paid close attention.  The voice's owner was about his age, and short.  Probably ten inches shorter than his six feet.  She had dark brown hair, tinged with red.  Her eyes were green behind thin metal-framed glasses.  There were hollows in her cheeks, and she was slender though square-shouldered.  

            "Hello, I'm Frank Hardy from next door, and this is my brother Joe."  They shook hands.

            "I'm Lachlan Nolan, the new nanny."

            "We've got some baking for you," said Joe.  He decided that Lachlan wasn't beautiful, but she was attractive nonetheless.  Even features, a good smile, grinning eyes.  

            "And our mom wants to invite you for dinner tomorrow night," added Frank.  Joe turned to his brother, surprised.  He hadn't heard that.  Frank gave him a warning look, and Joe dropped it.

            "Um, sure," said Lach.  "What time?"

            Dinner went well.  Laura Hardy was taken by her new neighbour.  She insisted that Lach call her Laura, rather than Mrs. Hardy like Lach wanted, because they were both adult women, raising boys.  Lach had grinned at that.  She didn't mention that she was the same age as Frank.

            Lach wasn't a big talker, but she was the focus of the meal, and all five Hardys peppered her with questions.

            That evening, after Lach and the children had left, Frank and Joe went upstairs and talked.

            "What do you think of her?" asked Frank, grinning at his brother.

            Joe grinned back.  "What do _you_ think of her."

            "I like her.  So do you.  First time we've both fallen for the same girl," he said lightly.

            Joe nodded.  "Wonder what she's thinking right now…"

            Lach was putting Patrick into bed, but her mind kept turning to Frank and Joe Hardy.

            "Come on, Pat, you already went to the washroom.  Get in bed.  I'll tuck you in, and you'll stay there this time.  Okay?"

            "Yup."

            "You sure?"  Lach looked into Pat's eyes.

            "Yup."

            "All right."  The boy climbed into bed, and Lach bent down and kissed him on the forehead.  Lach wasn't demonstrative, but the first night she'd been with the boys, Pat had informed her that she was to kiss him first thing in the morning and last thing at night.  Lach supposed that his mother was ritualistic about this.

            "Good night, Paddy."

            Lach left the room, and went downstairs and sat in front of the TV with Michael.  She tried to decide which Hardy brother she liked better.  She could tell that Joe was the more out-going, louder, and impulsive of the two, and this appealed to her.  However, she liked Frank's restraint and logic.  She figured that she'd have to get to know them better before she decided.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer:  I don't own any of the Hardys.

            A few weeks later, Lachlan awoke to sunlight streaming through her window and she arose despite herself.  It was five in the morning, but she'd be able to get all kinds of things done before the rest of the house woke up.

            Fenton Hardy and his sons were eating breakfast just after seven that morning when a strong knock came at the front door.

            Joe answered it, and was surprised to see Lach standing there, looking worried.  "Hi," she said.

            "Hello, come on in."  They walked into the kitchen, and everyone greeted each other.  Lach had never liked small talk, and she was curter than usual now.

            "Well, why I came was…  Michael and Patrick have disappeared.  I went to wake them up just now, and they were gone."  She held up her hands in a shrug.

            The Hardys stared.  Fenton spoke first.  "You're absolutely sure they're not in the house?  Maybe they're in the basement?"

            Lach shook her head.  "I searched everywhere.  We can look again, but," she shrugged helplessly.  "And their bedroom windows were closed and locked, and the house alarm was still on."

            The Hardys exchanged looks.  "Let's go search," said Fenton, and everybody went next door.

            The house was completely empty.  They returned to the Hardy house.  Somehow, it was more cheerful.

            "I guess we should call the police," said Lach.

            "No," said Fenton quickly, and the teens all stared at him.

            He sighed.  "Frank, call your school and tell them that you two won't be able to make it today.  Lachlan, call Michael and Patrick's school and tell them the same thing.  Don't say that they're missing.  Use the phone in my study."

            Nobody spoke until the phone calls were made.

            "What's going on?" Frank asked his dad pointedly.

            Fenton sighed again.  "David and Ruth James…  those aren't their real names.  They are actually federal agents.  They did work as missionaries, but they were on government payroll.  The story about them rushing off to take the place of that missionary who died suddenly?  That's not true; they just needed an excuse to get back out into the field."

            "When was the last time that they were, uh, active as spies?" asked Joe.

            "Just before Michael was born," said Fenton.  "They wanted to keep their children safe," he said with a humourless grin.

            "Why do you know all this?"  asked Frank.

            "Because I have ties to the agency.  The Jameses moved next door to us in case something like this happened."

            "So, where are the kids?" asked Lach.  "Who has them?  How do we get them back?"

            "Well, I don't know who, exactly, has them, but it's certainly someone connected with their operation."

            "What's the operation?" asked Frank.

            "I don't know that either."

            "Can we contact this government agency?" asked Lach, looking highly suspicious.

            Fenton Hardy nodded.  "Yes.  I'm going to make a few calls right now.  You guys, sit tight."  He left the room.

            "Who is your dad?" asked Lach, thoroughly confused.  

            Frank smiled.  "He's a private detective, and he used to work for the NYPD.  Like he said, he's done some work for the government."

            "We've done some detective work, too," put in Joe.

            Lach nodded.  Silence fell.  

            Lach cleared her throat.  "How long do you think your dad is going to be?  'Cause I have stuff to do…"  She pointed in the direction of her house.

            Frank paused.  "It'd probably be better if you stayed here.  We can find something to do."  Another awkward silence.

            "Are you hungry?" asked Joe.  "I am.  We never finished breakfast."  The three moved into the kitchen.

            Joe looked at his cold and rubbery breakfast.  "Frank?  You wanna make more eggs?"

            "No."

            Joe sighed.  He didn't like cooking, and usually the smoke alarm went off if he ever tried it.

            "I'll cook or bake something," volunteered Lach.  "It'll keep my mind off things."

            Frank looked at her and shrugged.  "Sure, if you want.  Since Mom and Aunt Gertrude went off visiting relatives, there hasn't been much real food around."

            "What are you going to make?" asked Joe.

            Lach considered.  "What do want to eat?"

            It was almost noon before Fenton Hardy emerged from his study.  He entered the kitchen to find stew simmering on the stove, racks of cooling cookies on the counter, fresh bread in the oven, his sons doing dishes, and Lach mixing something in a bowl.  All three were adorned in aprons.

            Fenton couldn't help himself.  He laughed.  "When'll lunch be ready?"

            "About twenty minutes.  We just have to wait for the bread to finish baking," answered Lach.

            Frank turned to his father, his hands dripping dishwater all over the floor.  Lach objected, and Frank put his hands over the sink and waited for Lach to get him a towel.  "What'd Washington have to say?"

            "They couldn't tell me the details of the Jameses' operation, but it is related to arms smuggling from Boston to the Middle East.  The Jameses are over there now, and are working with a team that is making headway.  Hence the kidnapping of their children in order to discourage them."

            "Are they gonna quit?" asked Lach.

            "No."  Fenton sighed heavily.  "They can't be contacted without blowing their cover."

            "So they don't even know that the boys are gone."

            Fenton looked at her and nodded.  "Correct."

            Lach was outraged, but she didn't say anything.  She understood.  She didn't like it, but liking things didn't matter.  Frank put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

            "But they're going to search for the kids, right?" said Lach, stepping closer to Fenton.  "The U.S. government isn't just going to…"  She saw the expression on Fenton's face, and her voice rose in spite of herself.  "They can't–"

            "They aren't," he said, his voice hard.  "That's where we come in."

            Joe wanted to smile, but managed to hide it.  He loved detecting.

            "I have some information about the Boston end of things," Fenton explained.  "After lunch, we can study it thoroughly.  Tomorrow, we'll fly there, and do some investigating.  Lachlan, I don't want you going home.  Stay here, near the boys or me.  Sleep in Frank's room tonight; he can sleep on Joe's floor.  We don't need to lose anybody else, and I don't know what they've done next door – bugging, et cetera.  And now, let's eat lunch."

            The afternoon was spent poring over the uncensored parts of the Wassa files, as they were called.  The name of one of the higher-ups in the organization was believed to be Wassa.  The group seemed to have infiltrated quite thoroughly the governments of small, inconsequential Middle East and Eastern Bloc countries.  Separately, they held no power, and so, no superpowers had objected.  However if all the nations could act together, much havoc could be wrought.  

            The Boston connection was a small part of the whole, but it was the headquarters of the smuggling ring.  Not many Wassan weapons originated in the States, but all arrangements were set up on American soil.  This was the iffy part of the Wassan operation.  If problems developed, all clues pointed back to Boston, rather than Wassa itself.  Wassa could nicely divorce itself from the mess, and simply find another weapons supplies.  This, at least, was what the agency had deduced.  They did not have proof, but rather circumstantial evidence.  They could have gone after the Boston connection harder, if they wished, but they preferred to concentrate upon the larger fish, the whole of Wassa.  New information had recently been gleaned that pointed towards another tie between the Middle East and the East Coast, and so the Jameses were again called into service.  It was for this reason that Fenton Hardy felt that visiting Boston might just be a good idea.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for the encouraging reviews!  Please continue to let me know how I'm doing.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Hardys.

            Fenton, Frank, Joe and Lachlan ate a late supper of spaghetti and garlic bread, with fresh apple pie for dessert.  Afterwards, they sat in the family room and tried to pretend that nothing was wrong.  The TV was on, and books were in hands, but nobody could focus.

            "I'm going to bed," Fenton finally said, putting down the newspaper.  "I've read this article three times and I have no idea what it's about."

            Lach empathized.  She was trying to read, as well, and was just as successful.

            "Let's play a game," said Joe.

            "What?"

            He shrugged.  "Lach, go pick a game from the closet."

            "I don't care what we play," she said, staring at the shelves.

            "Close your eyes, jump up and down three times, and point to one," said Joe.

            Lach complied.  "Trivial Pursuit," she announced.

            "Oh no," moaned Joe.

            Frank laughed.  "Serves you right."

            Lach glanced between them.  "I can pick another…"

            "No, don't," Frank said, still chuckling. "Let's play it.  It's my favourite game," he explained, "but Joe, as you can tell, hates it.  He only ever gets the sports ones right."

            Lach grinned.  She liked the game, too.

            At eight o'clock the next morning, Frank was sitting by the window of a small commuter plane.  Joe sat in the seat ahead of him, fast asleep.  On Frank's left sat Lachlan, and across the aisle, in the only other seat in the row, was Fenton Hardy.  He was studying a folder intensely.  Lachlan was doing a crossword puzzle.  Frank was bored and antsy.  He wanted to be in Boston already, investigating.  He could feel the concern Lachlan felt for the James kids.  She'd known them less than a month, but she was prepared to do anything she had to for them.

            Upon arrival in Boston, the Hardys and Lachlan rented a car and checked into a hotel.  Lach was shocked at the poshness.  She whispered to Frank, "Why are we at such an expensive hotel?  We're not on vacation or anything."

            Frank replied, "If the bad guys discover us and come looking for us, they wouldn't check the fancy places first.  Anyways, we're only getting one room.  May as well be comfortable.  And maybe Dad'll convince the government to foot the bill."

            Their room was on the eighth floor.  It contained two queen beds and a hideabed chesterfield, plus a table and four chairs, a large closet and a spacious bathroom with a hot-tub-sized Jacuzzi.  Lach wished she were here under happier circumstances so that she could enjoy her stay.

            The four ate lunch in the hotel lobby, and then drove to the warehouse they'd read about.  It was old and made out of grey corrugated steel.  It was two stories tall, but inside, there probably was only one dirty cement floor, with walls stretching up to the steel-trussed roof.  There didn't appear to be any windows, but there were several bays and a regular-sized door.  

            "Nobody seems to be around," commented Frank.

            "When you're smuggling stuff, you try to be discreet," Joe said.

            "But you try to act normal.  You come and go like a regular company would.  You don't pretend like your headquarters is abandoned," argued Frank.

            "It's Saturday," pointed out Lachlan, and both boys looked sheepish.  Fenton smiled to himself.

            "Very true," he said.  "Though here, near the docks, not a lot stops for the weekend.  Ships come and go."

            They had circumnavigated the warehouse, and had found nothing of interest in the alley at the back.  A dumpster, garbage in the gutters, the smell of urine and worse.  

            "What do we do now?" asked Lach.  

            "We go in," said Joe, moving towards the door.

            "Wait," said Fenton and Frank together.  Fenton went on, "Let's go down the street some and watch.  Things may not all be as they seem."

            Lach nodded, and Joe sighed.  Lach grinned at him.  "I hate waiting, too."

            He looked at her, surprised.  "You've never seemed impatient to me."

            "That's 'cause she has enough discipline to suppress it," explained Frank, grinning at Joe.

            The four walked down the road and ducked into a narrow space between buildings.  Here they were out of sight of the street, but they could also keep an eye on the warehouse.  

            Nothing happened for a long time.  Lach hummed to herself.  Frank found himself joining her, before telling her to be quiet, so as to avoid giving themselves away.  Joe's stomach rumbled.  Fenton kept glancing at his watch.

            "What, exactly, are we waiting for?" asked Lach finally, in a whisper.  Her discipline had run out.

            Frank shrugged.  "We'll know when it happens.  Stakeouts always work immediately in the movies, but they're boring as anything in real life."

            "Tell me about it," muttered Joe.

            "There," hissed Fenton, and the three teenagers gathered around him, trying to peer out of the alcove.  "One at a time," he whispered.  

            Three men, wearing the sort of clothes construction workers might wear, emerged from the northernmost bay door of the warehouse.  The door was rolled only halfway up, and when the third man pushed a button on a remote control, the door slid shut.

            "Let's follow them," said Fenton.  "I'll go first.  You kids follow farther behind.  Every so often, we'll change the lead man.  Or woman, excuse me.  Lachlan, remember what you've learnt from the movies, it'll probably help.  Don't be conspicuous–"  He glanced out into the street again.  "Okay, I'm going.  Boys, finish the explanation.  And Lach, I don't want you to be the last person in the line, all right?"  Without waiting for a reply, he sauntered off down the road.

            "Don't lose sight of the person ahead of you."  Frank took over where Fenton had left off.  "If you want the person behind you to move in front of you, cough once and make sure that the person knows what you're doing.  If you want the person behind to catch up, do the coughing routine twice.  Joe, you'd better go now.  Change sides of the street when the order changes.  You're a girl; you can put your hair up or something when you change positions.  Um, any questions?"

            Lach considered.  "No."  She was excited as all get out, but avoided showing it.

            "Okay, then.  When Joe gets to the end of that block, you can go."  

            They watched Joe's progress from their hiding place.  The corner neared.  Frank put a hand on her shoulder just before she went.  Lach turned back and looked at him expectantly.  He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped and shook his head.  "Good luck," he said simply.

            Lach smiled.  "Thanks."


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you all again for reviewing!  It seems so amazing that there are people out there reading this from probably all corners of the world.

Disclaimer:  I don't own any of the Hardys.

            Joe and Lach were walking together now.  They were telling each other funny stories from their childhoods, and laughing as they tailed Frank.  Suddenly, Joe took her hand and bent down and kissed her on the cheek.  "Be my girlfriend," he whispered.

            Keeping a bright smile on her face, Lach hissed back, "D'you think we could discuss this at a later date?"

            Joe was confused at her harshness for an instant, until he realized what she thought.  "I meant, let's pretend, for the sake of a guy a block behind us, in a grey raincoat."

            Blushing, Lach laughed.  "Sure," she said, slipping an arm around Joe's waist.  She shot a look of pure adoration at him, and Joe thought he'd melt.  He knew it was feigned, but Lach's acting was incredible.  He could easily convince himself that she was serious.  Joe put his arm around her shoulders and breathed deeply, hoping his heart would stop pounding so hard.

            "At this stoplight, let's turn sideways so that I can see this guy that we're performing for."

            At the corner, Lach turned towards Joe, and he held her at arm's length so that she could see the man out of the corner of her eye.  Unfortunately, because she wore glasses, the man was indistinct.  Lach leaned into Joe, pressing the side of her face into his chest.  She was looking down the street, and plainly saw a large man, in brown pants and zipped-up grey coat, sauntering along.  He wore a Yankees baseball cap, so his hair was hidden and his face in shadow.  "Do you think he's actually following us?"

            "He's been behind us for a while."

            "Well, maybe he's going to the same place we are."

            "Lach, coincidences happen, but when you're detecting, you assume they don't."

            The light changed, and Lach let go and she and Joe crossed the street.  

            Lach walked unconcernedly down the street at an easy pace.  Her hair was loose at her shoulders, and it was swept across her face by the breeze.  She was aware of the trio of men fifty yards ahead of her, but she didn't stare.  She happened to notice that they turned a corner, and she subtly increased her pace.

            Fenton began to wonder if the men knew they were being tailed.  Nobody in the city actually walked more than a mile in one go, did they?  He'd been following the men, Frank, Joe and Lachlan for almost an hour.  Ahead of him, Lachlan coughed twice, and they congregated in the lobby of the Marriott hotel.

            Joe explained.  "Two of the guys went into the bar there, and the third's on the phone."

            Fenton thought quickly.  "You kids go into the bar – can you go into the bar? – and I'll watch the telephone guy."

            "Yup, we can go in; only Joe has to sit at a table," reported Frank, reading a sign by the door.  Joe made a face.

            The teenagers were seated in a booth with a clear view of their quarry.  A waiter came by.  "And what would you three like tonight?"  He was trying to figure out the relationships in this group.  The boys were obviously brothers, but their connection to the girl was uncertain.

            "A Coke, please," said Joe.

            "Beer, please," said Frank, ignoring Joe's stare.

            "Red wine, please," said Lachlan, and the waiter left.

            "Me and Lach are legal in Massachusetts," shrugged Frank.  "We're in a bar; what are we supposed to drink?"

            The three made aimless conversation and surreptitiously watched their suspects  The bartender spoke.  "Mr. Dunsmuir, shall I charge this to your room?"

            "Yes, thanks."

            Frank looked at his brother.  "Go chat with the front desk, see if you can find out anything about Mr. Dunsmuir et al.  Search his room.  We'll stay here, follow these guys.  If we don't see you, we'll meet at the hotel."

            Joe nodded, a grim expression on his face.  He wanted to stay with Lachlan.

            It was eleven at night.  Lach and Frank were bone tired, but the two men at the bar were lively as anything.  "I think they'll be here all night," said Lach.  "Do you think we could go?  Or at least order more coffee?"  Over the course of the evening, she'd drunk two glasses of wine and three coffees.

            "Wait," said Frank, watching the pair intently.  "They're getting up."

            "About time," grumbled Lach.  The romance of stalking had worn off long ago.  

            "Let's go."  Frank left some money on the table, and he and Lachlan rose.  They left the bar and stood in the hotel lobby and loitered near the telephones.

            Their quarries emerged.  They said their good byes, and one man walked towards the elevators, and the other walked towards the front door.

            Frank made the split-second decision to follow the man who was leaving.  They knew where to find his partner.

            "I've never walked this much in my life," observed Lach, several blocks later.  "No, that's not true, it just feels like it should be true."

            "Tell me about it," smiled Frank.  "Oh look, the end may be in sight.  Go in there, see what's happening."

            Lach shot him a look that he missed because of the darkness.  Fenton had explicitly stated earlier in the day that Lach was not to be left alone, but Frank was blatantly ignoring this.  Lach didn't mind.  She could handle herself. 

            Frank watched as Lach undid another button of her shirt and pulled her hair up into a bun, making her look older and flashier than she really was, before walking away.

            Lach strolled into the lobby of the reasonably pricy inn.  She smiled brightly at the receptionist.  "Hello, I'd like a room for my husband and me."  She giggled and fiddled with the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.  "We just got married yesterday.  We're on our honeymoon."  

            The young receptionist smiled back.  "Oooh, congratulations!  What colour was your wedding?  I'm getting married in August," she confided, leaning forward confidentially.  

            "Blue," answered Lach.  "Navy blue, with white highlights."

            "Oh!" squealed the receptionist, whose name was Lacey, Lach noticed.  "My favourite colour is navy!  It wasn't too sombre?"

            "Oh no," assured Lach.  "It was an outdoor wedding, and it was quite bright."

            "It must have been gorgeous!" gushed Lacey.  As an afterthought, she added, "What's your name?"

            "Chris Jameson, now."  

            "All right… and your address?"

            Lach gave the address of her old house in Vancouver, changing the city to Toronto.

            "Canada!" exclaimed Lacey.

            "Yes.  We decided to come here for our honeymoon… Boston is such a nice city.  I can't wait to explore it!"  Lach smiled some more.  She pulled out some cash from the wallet.  "I'll pay for two nights.  After that, we may decide to go elsewhere.  We're not really sure…"  Lach leaned over the counter and pointed at something on the desk.  "Is that a tourist guide that I could get a copy of?" she asked, while looking at the rack of room keys and guests' names behind Lacey.

            "Yes, let me go and get you some brochures."  Lacey rose and walked over to a small kiosk near the front desk.  Lach squinted at the paper attached to the key hook that she'd seen Lacey remove the man's key from.  It was room 212, and the name was…

            "Here you are," said Lacey, startling Lach.  

            "Thank you," smiled Lach.  "And could we have a room on the second floor?  I can't sleep if there's people walking around above me."  The front doors opened behind her, and she turned quickly and saw Frank.  "Oh, Jack!" she said, using the first name that came to mind.  She rushed over and gave him a hug and a quick kiss on the lips.  Frank's eyes widened.  Lach grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the desk.  "This is my new husband, Jack," introduced Lach.

            Lacey smiled.  "I hear you're from Toronto."  

            "Yes," said Frank, thoroughly confused, though he smiled anyways.  He watched Lach sign a receipt with her left hand.  He was fairly sure that she was right-handed.  The signature was illegible, but he thought he saw a J.  The clerk handed over two keys.  Frank took them.

            "Where's our luggage?" said Lach.  She frowned.  "Did you leave it in the car?"

            "Yeah," admitted Frank, looking sheepish.

            Lach sighed mightily.  "Well, nice to have met you, Lacey.  I hope your wedding goes well.  Let's go get our bags, Jack."  She took his hand, and they walked out the front door.

            Neither spoke until they were far down the sidewalk.

            "Explanation time," said Frank.

            "I think it's pretty obvious," answered Lach.  "I chatted with the clerk, got her distracted, and figured out where our mystery man is staying.  Isn't that what you wanted?" Lach asked sweetly.

            Frank stared for an instant, and then laughed.  "Yeah.  Good job, Lachlan."

            Late that night, the Hardys and Lach sat in their hotel room.  "I'll send the names and descriptions off to my contact," Fenton was saying, "but the names'll probably be fake."

            "What do we do tomorrow?" Lach asked.

            "More of the same," answered Frank with a tired smile.

            "I was afraid of that."

            "We'll get up early," planned Fenton, "and Frank and Lach can watch the man at that inn… Sleepy Hollows, wasn't it called?  Joe and I'll go back to the Marriott and check up on our men there.  Anything happens, leave a message at the front desk here.  Okay?"  Three nods.  "Then let's go to bed."


	5. Chapter 5

Again, thank you to everybody who's reading and reviewing!

Disclaimer:  I don't own any of the Hardys.

            It was six in the morning, and Lach and Frank were sitting in the Jamesons' room at Sleepy Hollows.  Their door was open slightly in order to hear any noise from the hallway, and particularly anybody leaving room 212.  "Can I at least go to the lobby and get a newspaper?" asked Lach.  "I'll be really quick, and I can't quite fathom anybody else being crazy enough to be up at this hour on a Sunday morning anyway."

            Frank sighed.  "Sure, go ahead, I guess.  It'll keep us from getting quite so bored."

            It was almost eleven before the Marriott pair, whom Joe had dubbed Long and Tall – in honour of one man's gorilla-like arms and the other's six-foot-six frame – left the breakfast room and approached a doorman.

            "It's very odd that construction workers would be staying at a hotel like this," Joe commented to his father as they sat on a big, comfortable couch in the lobby, drinking Starbuck's coffee.  They slowly got up and sauntered towards the front doors.  They watched the doorman flag down a cab, and they hurried to their own car, parked down the block in a fire zone.  Fenton muttered as he removed the ticket from the windshield and shoved it into his pocket.

            "We'll let the agency deal with this," he said.  "Keep your eye on that cab, Joe, see if you can get the ID number and the plate; maybe we can speak to the driver later and get some info…"

            They followed the cab and its occupants to the port warehouse.  The Hardys parked around the corner, then set out down the street, passing by the warehouse.  It appeared as deserted as it had the day before.  "Let's investigate," said Fenton, and the two approached the front door.

            Joe cracked it open.  He listened intently, and peered into a small anteroom.  He shrugged at his father, and they entered in.  A glass door led into an office, and a metal door was labelled Bay One.

            "Office first," whispered Fenton.  He tried the door, but it was locked.  Removing a lockpicking set from his pocket, he soon opened the door and the Hardys began a quick and thorough search.

            Joe began at a filing cabinet and soon found a small key taped to the bottom of the top drawer.  It was labelled, in felt-tipped pen, 348.  Odd, Joe thought to himself, and committed the number to memory.

            Fenton, meanwhile, was having no luck at all.  The warehouse apparently belonged to a courier company called, imaginatively, Overseas Shipping, Ltd.  He found numerous sales slips, dated in the previous six months, from places mainly in coastal Europe.  He tried the next desk drawer and smiled.  Here were more records, this time to places in Asia.  They seemed innocent enough, except that it didn't make any sense at all for a company to send anything by boat from the Eastern Seaboard to Asia.  You don't go around the Cape of Good Hope if you can help it.  Fenton didn't quite know what this meant, but it probably was important.

            Lachlan looked at Frank.  "I don't think anybody's in there.  By now, the guy would have left for food, because his other choice would be starvation.  Which I'm near, by the way."

            "It is two in the afternoon," he agreed.

            Lach nodded.  "Why don't we phone his room, see if there's an answer.  If he picks up, we can always make something up."

            Frank considered.  "Okay.  But we can't use our phone.  We'll – I'll – go down to the lobby.  You stay here."

            A few minutes later, Lach was standing in the hall across from 212, pretending to wait for the elevator.  She strained to hear a telephone ring.

            Suddenly, room 212's door was flung open, and Lach nearly died from shock.  She tried to non-chalantly study the man who exited and joined her in waiting for the elevator.

            Today, he was dressed in a pinstripe suit with an overcoat and hat, as if it were January.  He carried a black leather briefcase.  He wore wire-rimmed glasses and Lach couldn't decide whether he belonged with Merrill Lynch or the mafia.  

            The elevator door opened, and Lach and the man stepped in.  At the ground floor, the man headed for the front door.  Lach looked hurriedly around for the phones and Frank.  She didn't want to lose the man.  She vaguely heard somebody shouting, and it took her a moment to realize that it was she who was being summoned. 

            "Chris, Chris!"

            Lach turned to the front desk, where Lacey was standing and waving.  Lach plastered a smile on her face and approached.  "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

            "How was last night?" grinned Lacey.

            Lach's mind was blank.  She saw Frank walk into the room and she waved at the door.  "Last night?  Oh, right, wedding night.  Oh!  It was great!  But I'm afraid Jack's here now… we've got a busy day of sightseeing!  Bye!" she called cheerily while grabbing Frank's arm and sprinting out the door.

            Confused, he stumbled after her.  "What are you doing?"

            "He left!" cried Lach.  "Room 212!  He went out, carrying a suit and wearing a briefcase!"

            Frank stared.  "Oh.  Well.  Where'd he go?"

            "I don't know!  Lacey started talking to me –"

            "Who's Lacey?"

            "Nevermind!  Let's find that guy!"

            "Calm down, Lachlan.  You're making a scene.  I see him."

            Lach nearly shouted, "Where?"

            "Calm _down_.  There, at the corner, waiting for the light.  Oh, uh, he might have seen us."

            Lach paused, properly reproached.  "What do we do now?"

            Frank shrugged.  "Follow him anyway.  Even more discreetly.  Let's you and I stay together for a bit, because he's seen us together."

            "All right."

            "Oh good, you're still here.  Chris!"

            Lach responded quicker this time.  She turned to find Lacey looking at her curiously, and wondered how much she'd heard.  "You dropped your keys."

            "Oh!  Thank you.  Well, see you later!"  Taking Frank's hand, she began walking down the street.

            Joe was sorting through a telephone directory when he heard voices.  "Dad, listen."

            They were silent for a minute.  Fenton went to the door and peered out.  He leaped back.  The Hardys looked around for a place to hide.  The best they could do was crouch behind the desk.

            The voices were distinguishable now, and angry.

            "The boss wanted them a week ago.  Why haven't your people got them here yet?"

            "It's supply and demand," soothed the other voice.  "Happens to the best of us.  There's lots of demand –"

            "I'll say."

            "- but only so much supply –"

            "Your job is to supply!  Why can't you do that?"

            "I am!"

            "You haven't supplied anything!"

            "Who got you that last batch of high-grade stuff?"

            "What's past is past, and what's present ought to be present, not future!  Tomorrow, okay?"

            "Wednesday at the latest."

            "Tomorrow!"

            "All right, all right."

            The front door opened, and the supply man left.  Fenton watched the other guy sit down in an armchair in the anteroom and remove a sandwich and the morning paper from the bag he was carrying.  He sat and ate and read, and Fenton and Joe crouched behind the desk.  Fenton was getting stiff.  I'm too old for this, he thought to himself.

            "We're going to the warehouse," Frank commented, and Lach concurred.

            But they didn't.  The man stopped in a park on the way, and settled himself on a bench and made some calls on the cellular phone. Much to his dismay, Frank couldn't get near enough to eavesdrop.

            The man shuffled through some papers in his briefcase, then removed some and held them in his hand.  He basked in the sun for several minutes, glancing at his watch.

            The man nicknamed Long wandered up the path, and the bench man rose.  Together, they returned to the street.  They brushed by a woman pushing a double stroller, and a piece of paper fluttered to the ground.  Lach waited an agonizing two minutes before pouncing on the scrap.  Frank, in the meantime, followed the men.

            Lachlan studied the note hard.  It read:  Greyhound Depot, Monday at 10, Thursday at 12.

            Lach glanced up, saw that Frank was almost out of sight, and hurried to catch up.

            After the man finished his lunch, he'd hailed a cab.  "The Marriott," he'd said, and Fenton and Joe decided to head back to their own hotel.  There might be a note from Frank and Lachlan.

            Lach caught up to Frank in time to see Long enter an expensive restaurant.  "What meal would he be eating now?" she asked Frank.

            "Supper.  It's five-thirty," he pointed out.

            "It is?  Wow.  How time flies when you're… chasing people all over Boston."

            "Let's go back to the hotel."

            Over a room-service dinner, the Hardys and Lach discussed the case.

            "We'll be at the bus depot by eight-thirty tomorrow morning," said Fenton.

            "I'm glad we don't have to get up at five again," said Joe.  "And we can watch the Yankees' game tonight."

            Everyone nodded, worn out from a long day of surveillance.

            "They've been gone almost three days," said Lach quietly, staring at her plate.

            Fenton sighed.  He didn't know what to day.  Frank patted her on the shoulder.  "We'll find them.  Look how much progress we've made already."

            Lach stared at him.  "We don't know anything more than we did on Friday."

            Joe spoke.  "We confirmed the things that we'd thought.  That's something.  And there's the meeting tomorrow."

            "Usually until the very end of a case, nothing makes any sense.  You don't know what's important and what's not.  But you poke around long enough, and eventually things slide into place."  Lach glanced up at Fenton.  She gave a half-nod, keeping her tear-filled eyes downcast, and rose from the table.  She went into the washroom.  

            The Hardys watched her go.  They each felt her pain, and vowed to catch whoever had kidnapped the James boys.


	6. Chapter 6

To allie351: Yup, it was supposed to be a joke.

I don't any of the Hardys.

            The Hardys and Lach waited en masse at the Greyhound station for hours.  They had their empty suitcases with them, and fidgeted and complained like all of the other families in the depot did.  Nothing happened.  Buses came and went, but there was no sign of any of the Wassa men, and nobody was acting the slightest bit suspicious.

            When one o'clock rolled around, even Fenton was ready to give up.  They drove back to their hotel and packed for real.  They moved to another nearby hotel, a good thing to do periodically on investigations, it was explained to Lach.  Once settled, she and Frank went to put in an appearance at Sleepy Hollows.  Frank wanted to search room 212, and he first called it from the lobby while Lach chatted inanely with Lacey.

            A child's voice answered.  "Hello, is that Uncle David?"

            Frank, taken aback, said, "Sorry, wrong number," and hung up.  He found Lach speaking apparently knowledgably about wedding gowns.  "Hi, guys," he said, and kissed Lach under Lacey's approving look.  "Have you got things taken care of?" he asked, being deliberately vague.

            "Oh, no, sorry, honey!  Completely slipped my mind.  We were in deep discussion about veils, you see," explained Lach, looking perfectly earnest.  Frank could tell, however, that she as on the verge of laughing out loud.

            "We'd like to check out," said Frank.

            A few minutes later, they were walking back to their new hotel, a Holiday Inn.  There were two messages waiting for them.  The one from Joe said, "I went out to pick up some pizza for us all.  Be back around six."  Fenton's was:  "I went after the key."

            "Short but sweet," commented Lach.  

            Frank nodded.  "Let's go upstairs and wait for Joe.   I'm getting hungry.  He better be back soon."

            Over breakfast the next morning, Fenton explained what he'd discovered the night before.  He'd gone to the warehouse to get the key Joe'd found earlier.  He'd figured it belonged to a storage locker at the bus depot.  At the warehouse, Fenton had seen and followed Long to the Marriott, where all three men now had rooms.  

            "Let's go check out the locker," said Joe.

            They staggered their entries into the depot.  Lach went to Arrivals to await a bus that never came, Frank repeatedly stood in the ticket line-up, Joe talked endlessly on a pay phone, and Fenton strolled over to the storage lockers.  When it was determined that he wasn't being observed, he opened number 348, and pulled out a single piece of paper.  He put it in his pocket and casually left the station.

            Two overcrowded buses pulled in, and in the ensuing commotion, the three teenagers made their leave.

            They met in the Holiday Inn dining room and ordered lunch.

            "It says, 'Call home,'" shrugged Fenton.

            "'Call home'?" repeated Lach.  Fenton nodded.

            "D'you think it's meant for us?" Frank asked, frowning heavily.

            "Well, a regular person wouldn't leave a note like that there," said Joe.

            "Do they know about us?" asked Lach.

            "Well, you and me were seen outside Sleepy Hollows when you made that big fuss," pointed out Frank.  

            Lach glared for an instant, wishing she was angry at Frank, but actually angry at herself.  "I'm sorry," she said, and swallowed hard.

            "Frank," said Fenton reprovingly, and Frank sighed.  "Well," Fenton went on grimly, "either way, I think we should call home."

            They drove to a busy shopping mall to use the telephone.  Frank, Joe and Lach watched silently as Fenton dialled the Hardy home in Bayport.  He stood there as it rang, and hung up after hearing the answering machine message.

            "I guess everything's fine, then," said Joe.  "Nobody's supposed to be there."

            "Wait," said Fenton, looking at Lach.

            "Maybe I should call my house."  She took the phone and dialled her parents' number.  No answer.  She dialled twice more, but to no avail.  She looked at the Hardys.  "My mom should be home now.  She teaches piano.  If the phone rings twice in a row, she knows it's important and she answers."  Lach stood there, biting her lip.

            "Maybe you should call a neighbour, ask them to go over… and call your dad at work," suggested Fenton.

            Lach nodded.  "I'll call my dad's school first."  He was an elementary school principal.  "Hi, it's Lachlan, is Tom there, please?  Oh, called in sick, thanks, good bye, Jan."  Lach swallowed hard.  "My dad is never sick.  I'll try our neighbours."  Lachlan called directory assistance first, and it took some time.  She was getting antsy, and kept having to redial the phone number after she made mistakes.  "Hi, Mrs. Keith?  It's Lachlan Nolan.  Yes, fine, thank you.  Yes, well, I'm in Boston now actually…  By any chance, could you go ring my doorbell?  Nobody's answering… it's a little odd.  Great, thanks.  No, I'd better call back.  Ten minutes?  Okay, bye, right, bye."  Lach sighed heavily and collapsed in a chair.  Frank sat beside her and gave her a quick hug.

            "I'm sure they'll be fine."

            The seconds passed as if they were hours.  Finally, ten minutes had gone by, and Lach snatched up the receiver.  She dialled, but there was no answer at the Keiths'.

            "This is very odd," said Joe.

            "Well, she could have got talking with your mom and lost track of time," Frank mentioned.  "If she's anything like my mom."

            Fenton nodded.  "Try again in five minutes."

            An eternity passed, and Lach picked up the phone.  Still no answer.  "I'll call another neighbour."  She gave a weak smile.  "Probably nothing's wrong at all and the whole block'll think I'm crazy and property values'll go down until we move away."

            "Probably," agreed Frank, impressed with Lach's ability to make jokes in time of stress.

            "Hi, Mrs. Colway, it's Lachlan Nolan.  Yeah, I'm calling from back East.  Great time, yes.  Um, could you please, well, go outside and knock on my door and the Keiths'?  I asked Mrs. Keith to go to my house, and I haven't been able to get a hold of her since.  Good.  Thanks.  Five minutes.  Bye."

            Lach sat again and closed her eyes.  "I might kill my parents after all this is sorted out," she muttered.  She turned suddenly to Fenton.  "Don't ever just disappear or anything, no matter what you're investigating.  Your family's peace of mind is worth much, much more than any case."

            The time came for Lach's next call, and it was answered in the middle of the first ring.  "Hi, Mrs. Col – what!  There's – what?  They've… oh, no.  Oh, my."  Lach leaned against the wall, unable to support her full weight any longer.  "Right.  Well.  Thanks.  I will.  Oh, dear.  Yes.  Good bye."

            The Hardys all spoke at once, knowing it was bad news that Lach had heard, and dying to hear it.

            Lach studied the three faces.  Fenton's and Frank's, so much alike, just a couple of decades apart.  Joe's, different, but vaguely similar to Frank's.  All showing great concern.  Fenton's also gravely worried, contemplating the possibilities, Frank's on the verge of terrified, knowing Lach didn't get upset over just anything, Joe's almost morbidly eager to share Lach's pain and fear.

            "In my house," said Lach slowly, evenly, "Mrs. Keith found two… people.  Very obviously… dead.  Blood all, well, all over.  The police are there."

            Horror spread across the Hardys' faces, and they turned pale.  "Is it… do they know who…?" began Joe.

            Lach nodded.  "Man and woman.  Probably my… Well, they're not sure; it's hard to tell."

            There was a silence, then Fenton herded the teenagers back to the car and they drove to the Holiday Inn.  It seemed even more incongruous now that ever before.

            They sat down, the Hardys on one bed, Lach on the other.  She wouldn't let anyone near.

            Fenton cleared his throat.  "Lachlan?  Would you like us to leave?"  A shrug.  "Do you want to talk?"  Another shrug.  Fenton studied his sons.  "Hmm.  Joe, maybe you and I should go talk with the agency about all this, all right, Lachlan?"  Another shrug.

            Fenton and Joe rose and got their coats and shoes on.  They stood at the door for a long moment.  Fenton walked over, patted Lach on the shoulder, and embraced Frank.  Joe followed suit, hugging them both.  

            Joe didn't move, looking into Lach's unseeing eyes.  "I'll wait for you in the lobby," said Fenton.  Joe didn't react.  He simply stood between the beds, on the verge of tears.

            Frank stood beside him.  "She'll be fine, Joe.  She's strong, you know that."  He paused.  "You'd better go with Dad, now.  You're helping, doing that."

            Joe nodded, and left the room.

            Frank sat beside Lach and put an arm around her.  "Want to talk?"  A headshake.  "All right, we'll just sit here then."  After a minute, Lach's head dipped and Frank could feel her tense.  "Cry," he told her.  "Cry.  Holding it in is harder.  Doesn't matter if you're the crying sort or not.  Joe isn't, and he was just in here crying."  Frank could feel Lach beginning to shake.  Out of words, he simply held Lach tighter.


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry it's taken me so long to post another chapter – I've been out of town for the past week and unable to get to a computer.  Again, I don't own the Hardys.

            It was eight o'clock before Fenton and Joe returned.  "It's all been decided," Fenton announced.  "You'll fly home tomorrow, Lach."

            "No, I won't."

            Fenton simply stared.

            "There's nobody at home," explained Lach.  "Nothing for me to do there.  Here, on the other hand, is where things need to happen.  There's hope, still, for Michael and Patrick.  They need to get rescued.  I'm not going home alone, so then one of you'd have to come.  Which would make the investigation twice as slow, and that isn't going to happen.  Those boys need finding."

            Fenton still stared, first at Lach and then at his older son.  He had difficulty believing that Lach had had enough coherent thoughts since the telephone call to dream up this plan on her own.

            Frank looked steadily back at his father, expressionless.  

            "You've heard this before," said Fenton.  The answer was in Frank's silence.  "And you didn't try to talk her out of it."  Again, Frank denied nothing.  "You're crazy, you know," said Fenton, dead serious.  He turned to Lach.  "The funeral can't be postponed indefinitely," he said, appealing to her logic.

            "True."

            "So, when will you go back?"

            "When the boys are found."

            "That's not necessarily going to be tomorrow, you know."

            "I know.  They can be buried without me.  My parents won't – wouldn't – mind.  They'd want what's best for me.  And what's best for me is what's best Michael and Patrick.  So I'll miss the funeral.  But the boys will be found."  Lach held Fenton's gaze for a long moment.  "I'm going to have a bath and then go to bed.  It's been a long day."

            As to be expected, Lachlan slept badly that night.  They all had gone to bed just after nine, but Lach lay awake until eleven-thirty.  She dozed until almost two, when her tossing and turning woke Joe.

            "D'you want to go for a walk, get some tea or something?" he asked in a whisper.

            Lach nodded.  They pulled sweatshirts over their pajamas and prowled the deserted corridors of the Holiday Inn.

            Finally, Lach spoke.  "Why did they kill my parents?  We hadn't exactly made a whole lot of progress.  I don't think we were jeopardizing their operation."

            "Apparently, they thought so, so maybe we're closer than we think.  Dad said something about getting the agency to set up a twenty-four-hour-a-day surveillance on the warehouse and Marriott rooms.  And they're sending some agents to Vancouver to work with the police there.  Something's bound to happen."

            "Something did happen," said Lachlan quietly.

            Joe slid an arm around her shoulder.  "I can't wait until we catch these guys."

            "I can't wait until we find the Jameses."  There was a long pause.  "D'you suppose that, well, maybe they're in the warehouse?  I mean, that's the only place we've been, and they reacted a little strongly."

            Joe considered.  "Anything's possible."  They were in the lobby.  The night clerk appeared to be asleep.  "Excuse me?  Do you know a place where we could get coffee now?"

            The receptionist blinked.  "Um, no, well, there's coffeemakers in the rooms.  Do you need more coffeebeans?"

            "No, see, we didn't want to wake up the other people in our room.  Thanks anyways.  Lach?  You want to go look for a place that's open?"

            "Can we just go back to bed?" asked Lach.

            "Sure.  You gonna sleep?"

            A wan smile.  "We'll see."

            The morning passed dreadfully slowly.  Fenton left at eight, leaving a note saying to meet him for lunch at noon.  Lach and Frank awoke half an hour later and, at Lach's request, went swimming in the hotel pool.  "It'll take my mind off things.  It's better than just sitting around," said Lach, and Frank agreed.

            Lach swam laps.  Frank could tell that she wasn't a great swimmer, but she was splashing quickly back and forth, back and forth, fuelled by pent-up emotion.  Frank swam at a more leisurely pace before retiring to the hot tub.  Finally, gasping for air, Lach joined him.  She slid into the tub and sighed.  She looked to Frank.  "I wonder if Joe's up.  Maybe we should go back now."

            "Whatever you want."

            Without warning, Lachlan began to cry and buried her face in her hands.  "I just realized, the last time I was in a hot tub was at Christmas with my parents…" she mumbled through her tears.  When Frank tried to comfort her, she pulled away and stumbled out of the water.  "Let's go get ready for lunch with your dad.  I was talking with Joe last night…"

            They wore disguises this time, as they traveled to the warehouse.  Frank and Joe were dressed as dockworkers in dirty coveralls and baseball caps pulled low over their faces.  Fenton was pretending to be a wino, and the teenagers had a hard time not laughing when they looked at him.  Lachlan was in tourist getup, wearing summery clothes and a big sunhat and a camera and carrying maps and exclaiming to herself in loud French.

            An hour ahead of time, Fenton took his place on the street half a block down from warehouse.  He would provide any distraction necessary.

            Lach loitered on a side street.  When she saw Frank and Joe walk by, ostentatiously on their way home from work, she would mosey on over to the warehouse.

            Shortly after five-thirty, the Hardy boys turned a corner a few blocks away.  They were aware of Lachlan following them at a distance.  There was traffic on the road, but no other pedestrians.  A bit before the warehouse door, Frank knelt down to tie his shoe.  Joe leaned against the building, and casually reached over to try the knob.  Unlocked.  He opened it a crack, and then he and Frank entered in.  Joe listened at the door marked Bay 1 and, hearing nothing, he slowly opened it.  It was pitch dark, and both boys crept into the bay.  Lach was a few steps behind them.  

            Slowly and silently, they explored Bay 1 after their eyes adjusted to the dark.  It appeared to be empty except for a large stack of wooden crates in one corner.  Lach found a door, probably leading to another bay, but she didn't try it because Frank motioned her over to the crates.  "Do you hear something?" he whispered.

            Straining her ears, she nodded.  Joe joined them, and they began moving the apparently empty crates around, trying to find the noise.  "Mmmgh."  All three stopped dead, then, cheered by the sound, they quickened their pace.  

            "Hey," said Lach.  "This crate is nailed shut and the others weren't."  Exchanging significant glances, and hardly daring to breathe, they poured their efforts into prying open the crate with a hammer that Frank had carried partly for his disguise, but also as a defensive measure.  The murmurs increased.  The going was slow; every time the wood creaked, they stopped and listened intently.  

            Finally, the lid was free, and Joe lifted it off.  Shocked, he saw two little boys crouched together in the far corner of the eight-foot-square wooden prison.  "Michael!  Patrick!" gasped Lachlan, reaching in to them.

            The James boys were equally shocked, but wasted no time in leaping to their feet.  The crate walls were five feet high, and Frank finally climbed into it and lifted the boys out to Lach's waiting arms.  "We're not done yet," whispered Frank.  "We still have to get out of here.  Remember, be quiet," he added for the Jameses' benefit.

            Leaving the warehouse turned out to be easier than entering it had been.  Lach left first, with the boys, then Frank and Joe left, walking the opposite way down the street.  Unbelieving, Fenton stumbled after Lach, Michael and Patrick.  

            They soon rendezvoused in their room at the Holiday Inn.  "We'll drive to the agency," Fenton announced, "and they'll find us a place to stay."  He broke into a broad smile and hugged Michael and Patrick.  "I'm so glad that we got you back safely."  He turned to Lach.  "Thank you for suggesting we check the warehouse.  And, Joe, Frank, thanks for convincing me it was worthwhile."

            Lachlan was exceedingly glad that the agency headquarters were located in New York, and not Washington, D.C., which would be logical.  The drive was half as far, though the three-and-a-half-hour drive was still three hours too long for Patrick.  Michael slept; he'd forced himself to stay awake as much as possible during his imprisonment, to protect Patrick if necessary.

            Pat, on the other hand, was a bundle of energy at the best of times.  Having been cooped up in a packing crate for days, plus the pent-up stress and fear, combined to wire him sufficiently to orbit the earth.  He not only wouldn't sit still, but he was cranky and whined and cried at the slightest reproach, and Lach had only so much patience.

            An eternity later, the Hardys and the Jameses and Lach got out of the overcrowded car and entered the agency building.  The boys were to be whisked away for medical examinations, but Michael, in tears, wouldn't leave Lach's side, and she had to accompany them.  

            It was late in the evening before debriefing occurred.  Patrick was patently useless, but Michael was a veritable fount of information.  Their captors had been lax in front of them, obviously believing that the boys would be killed rather than returned to their home and family.

            They sat in a conference room, in fairly comfortable chairs around a long table.  Patrick dozed, and the others longed to.  Around two in the morning, the meeting broke up, and sleeping arrangements were made.  Since the night was half over anyways, and the boys were already asleep, it was decided that they would simply bunk on the floor of a large room, and in the morning, they would move to a proper safe house residence.  

            Lach lay on her back on the floor, covered in a wool blanket.  Paddy was curled up on one side of her, and Mike was on the other.  She had an arm around each of them, and she could hear their breathing.  At their feet slept the Hardys.  Lach was the only one awake.  These people, well, Mike and Pat, were her only real family left.  Her parents were gone, and she had no other kin.  Lach's mind wandered to the friends she had left behind in Vancouver.  She was hit, for the first time in her life, with homesickness, but in reverse.  When in Canada, she would miss the Hardys and Jameses terribly.  I will have to go home and deal with things, she thought to herself.  I can't escape that reality.  Mr. and Mrs. James will come home, but I can come back here for the rest of the summer, Fenton and Laura will let me stay with them, but in September, I have to go home, well, to my hometown, for good.  Lach cried herself to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

            The next morning was a horribly confusing affair.  Turned out, a seven-o'clock breakfast meeting had been scheduled for the "bedroom."  Rumpled and yawning, the Hardys, Lach and the boys were evicted.  The agents in charge of the Wassa case were not in, and, in their fatigued state the night before, had neglected to leave notes for the secretaries and managers.  Much room-shuffling was done before Agents O'Leery and Herschel were contacted and arrived at work.  They ate breakfast, eventually, and it was ten-thirty before everything had calmed down.  O'Leery was in the process of informing a safe house of the imminent arrival of the James party when Herschel received some distressing information.  It took him half an hour to verify its truthfulness, and then he ordered another meeting.

            "I have some bad news," he began, and took a deep breath.  "We just a got a report from our field agents in the Middle East…  Five of them disappeared last night, which was this morning for them.  They were on the verge of a big discovery…  It's early yet, but we're figuring that somebody must have turned, become a double agent, reported their progress to Wassa.  Our remaining agents are working furiously, and we're sending out more to join them, and trying to be discreet about it.  Anyway, two of the missing agents are David and Ruth James."

            Lachlan knew she should have been shocked and horrified, but too much had hit her recently, and she simply nodded, to confirm that she'd heard the news.  She turned to the boys – her boys, she had been thinking of them lately – and gauged their reactions.  Michael looked so terribly sad.  Patrick seemed a little confused.  He'd been through so much lately that he didn't have the wherewithal to understand what had just happened.  Lach saw Fenton moving to sit beside him, so she slid nearer to Michael and hugged him tightly.

            Ten days had passed and, for once, the news was good.  The number of agents working the case had increased fivefold, and they were working around the clock.  They didn't take kindly to fellow agents being kidnapped.  The mole had been ferreted out and fed disinformation and, as a result, the Boston end of the Wassa ring was imploding.  Several minor arrests had taken place, and more were sure to come.  It was decided that before the week was up, Lachlan would be able to fly home and deal with her vacant house and her parents' belongings.  She was not looking forward to the trip, but she knew it had to be done.  She'd had a chance to talk to Frank privately, and had asked him something.

            "Frank.  You know how I'm going back home soon…  Would you… would you go with me, please?" she asked, looking down at the floor.

            Frank studied the top of Lach's head.  "Of course, Lachlan."

            Lachlan breathed a sigh of relief.  "Good.  Because… well, then you can meet my friends back home and stuff."

            Frank nodded, knowing that that wasn't the real reason, knowing that Lach was actually afraid to be alone.  "Right."

            The plane touched down at eight-thirty a.m., local time.  Mechanically, Lachlan rose from her seat, grabbed her carry-on from the overhead compartment, and filed off the plane behind Frank.

            Customs and baggage claiming were mercifully quick, and soon they were walking towards Arrivals.  Lachlan stopped dead, realized she was blocking the corridor, and motioned to Frank to move to the side.  She slumped down on the luggage cart.

            "I can't do this," she said, resting her forehead in her hand.  "Let's get back on that plane and return to New York."

            Frank reached out and gently took her free hand.  "Lachlan, this is something you have to do.  We're staying with your best friend's family.  You've known them since you were little.  Don't be afraid of them –"

            "I'm not afraid," interjected Lach.

            "Well, be glad to see them, anyways," Frank went on, undeterred.  "You haven't seen them in over two months.  I know it's not under the best of circumstances, but at least be glad to see them, all right?  For their sake, if not for yours."

            "Their sake?" queried Lach, wrinkling her nose.

            "Yes, their sake.  If you act… depressed this week, they're going to worry about you a lot for the rest of the summer.  They're going to really try to convince you to stay here, whereas if you seem to be coping well, then their summer won't be ruined by constant worry.  They'll still want you to stay here, of course, but they'll understand that you'll be fine in Bayport," Frank explained, hoping Lach wouldn't pick up on the selfish motive he'd voiced.

            Lach considered.  "I still don't like it."

            A laugh.  "Nobody said you had to like it."

            Lach rose to her feet and sighed.  She hugged Frank for a moment, then got behind the cart, but hesitated a moment before pushing it.  She reflected on the Hardys and the Jameses, and wondered when – and if – David and Ruth would return home.  She thought about not returning to university in the fall, about staying with Michale and Patrick.  From what she'd heard over the past few days, undercover agents were often in place for years.  Lach imagined Patrick as a teenager, Michael graduating form high school, her marrying a Hardy brother…

            "Earth to Lachlan."  Frank's voice interrupted her reverie.  "Lach?"  Renewed concern showed on his face.  "Are you coming?"

            "Yeah, I was just thinking."  She felt her cheeks warm, and ducked her head and shoved at the cart and hoped Frank wouldn't notice her red face.

            She scanned the crowd in Arrivals, searching for the Courtenays.  Because they'd stopped and talked, the other four hundred passengers had got ahead of them, and the room was sheer bedlam.

            "Lachlan!  Lachlan!"  She turned, and was almost bowled over by Will Courtenay.

            "Hello!" she gasped, breathing shallowly, due to Will's tight embrace.  Then she was bearhugged by his parents.

            Finally, Lach was free and she began the introductions.

            "You what!" exclaimed Frank into the telephone, causing Lachlan, Will, and Will's younger brother, Rob, to turn and stare.

            "No!  I don't care what Dad says, you aren't –"  He was cut off by Joe, on the other end.  "Wait until Friday.  It can't be – no!"  Frank's normally calm demeanour had been thrown out the window.  "Joe!  Listen to me.  You can't – Joe!"

            "Give that to me," ordered Lach, holding out her hand.  Frank wasn't paying attention to her, and Lach snatched the phone from his ear.

            "Joe?  It's me, Lachlan.  Tell me whatever you told Frank."

            Frank stared at her, then looked at Will and Rob.  They shrugged.

            "What happened?" asked Will.

            "Joe says he's going to –"

            "Quiet!" hissed Lach, and Frank stopped and threw his hand sin the air in frustration.

            There was along silence as Lach listened to Joe speak.  "I'm going, too," she said eventually.

            "No," said Frank firmly.

            Lach motioned for him to be quiet.  She apparently was arguing with Joe.  "It's my parents who died," she said.  "My interest in this is a little more vested than yours."  A pause, then: "All right, I'll convince your dad."  Lach covered the mouthpiece with her hand and looked pointedly at Frank.  "I'm going, Joe's going, you and your dad are going.  We fly back tonight."

            "What!" exclaimed both Courtenays, immediately beginning to protest.  Lach silenced them with a glare, then turned back to the phone.  Several minutes later, she hung up.

            "Here's the plan," she announced.  "The Agency isn't thrilled by our presence in the investigation, but I bet that isn't new to you guys," she said to Frank.  "We fly to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.  We join some tour group, the Agency's still arranging it with the American embassy.  Where the Wassa activity has been observed there, is very near the hotel we'll be staying at.  We'll have some free time – we're supposed to explore as much as we can.  Our covers are going to show us as being really into Arabic architecture or something, so that we can maybe get away with investigating lots of buildings.  They've got some buildings that they're suspicious about… they figure their kidnapped agents are being held in the area.  So, Frank, let's pack."

            Will alone drove them to the airport that evening.  Frank and Lach checked their luggage and paid their airport taxes and then stood awkwardly with Will, waiting to say goodbye.

            "We didn't finish cleaning out your house," said Will accusingly.

            "Your mom said she'd do the rest," answered Lach.

            "I bet the lawyers will come up with more papers for you to sign."

            "Your dad said I've signed all that I need to.  If more turn up, he can sign them."

            Will didn't respond.  Frank wished he were anywhere but here.  He turned and watched the masses of humanity pour through the airport.

            "What are we going to do with all the stuff you're going to keep?  It can't stay in our basement forever," said Will in a somewhat belligerent tone.

            "We've been through all this already," said Lachlan, her patience wearing thin despite her determination to avoid an argument.

            "Who's going to take care of your precious Michael and Patrick?" Will went on.

            Lach looked at him.  "Picking a fight isn't going to make saying goodbye any easier."

            Will glared at her for a moment longer, then threw his arms around her and lifted her off her feet.

            Frank glanced back at Will and Lach for a moment, then turned to watch other tearful goodbyes.

            Lachlan Nolan was sick of Sarah Edwards.  Sarah was a second-year college student from Seattle, Washington, and studying architecture and interior design.  She was outgoing and naïve and cheerful, and Lach was exhausted from being Sarah Edwards.  Sarah was blond and wore her hair in a bun.

            Joe liked the bun.  Lach's jawline appeared more prominent than usual when her hair was pulled back, and she was striking, except when she was dressed in pyjamas, like now.

            "I think I caught a bug," Sarah said.  "I wish I could go back to bed.  But I don't want to miss seeing anything, either," Lach went on, managing to insert some enthusiasm into her tone.

            The tour group was eating breakfast in their hotel.

            Frank was sitting a table away from Lach and eavesdropping on her conversation with Megan Morrissey, a member of the tour with whom Sarah had made friends.

            Frank turned in his chair.  "Hey, Sarah, I couldn't help but overhear what you were saying.  I'm feeling pretty run-down, too.  We could stay back here for a bit, rest up, then maybe go exploring on our own, if we feel up to it.  That way, we can return here at any time."

            Lach wanted to nod immediately, but Sarah considered a moment before speaking.  "Sure, Spencer, sounds good.  Why don't you come sit with us?  No need for you to sit alone and read the paper.  This is a vacation, and on vacations you're supposed to get away from the rat race," she said, jabbing a finger at the New York Times in Spencer's hands.

            Frank smiled and pulled out a chair.

            It was nine o'clock, and the tour group had got off easily enough.  They had urged Spencer and Sarah to join them, but their minds would not be changed.

            Frank and Lach sat in the room Spencer shared with Josh Durant, another of the group.

            "Well, we've been just about everywhere in this city," said Lachlan, "and I ain't seen anything suspicious in the least."

            "I have."

            Lach rose to her feet.  "What?  Where?"

            "Very near the U.S. Embassy.  D'you remember the building, the one that was built as a hotel and then converted to a mansion?"

            "'Course I do, I'm an architecture student, aren't I?"  She sat.

            Frank grinned.  "I'd rather not be Spencer Maxwell, the next Alan Greenspan, either.  Anyways, a couple of the security guards looked familiar; I think I saw them in the files we studied on the plane ride over."

            Lach was standing again.  "What are we waiting for?"

            "You to put on some real clothes."

            Lach smiled.  "See you downstairs in five."


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you, everybody for the kind reviews!  

I don't own the Hardys.

            The city streets were bustling with an interesting mixture of people.  There wee the Arabs in full Islamic regalia, the Westernized Arabs, and the Westerners, either tourists or businessmen.

            Spencer and Sarah were quite obviously tourists, dressed in shorts and t-shirts, snapping photos.

            "Being tourists and reporters are the best disguises," said Frank.  "That's your excuse right there for being inquisitive and obnoxious."

            Lachlan laughed.  "Joe's certainly making the most of it."  Joe was playing a spoiled rich kid on holiday with his uncle, Fenton.

            "Yeah," agreed Frank.  "There it is, in the next block.  Let's stop by the gates, I'll take pictures, and you talk to the guards and see if they'll tell you anything at all."

            "All right."

            They strolled down the street and were dramatic in their awe of the building.  Sarah struck up a conversation with one of the two guards.  He was quite young and was eager to impress this young American girl with his knowledge of the English language.

            Frank hid a smile as he heard Sarah inquire about other entrances, under the guise of her future profession.  Remembering his own aptitude, Spencer asked after the value of the mansion, what sort of furniture it contained, if any rooms had been shut up.  The upkeep must have surely cost a fortune.

            After fifteen minutes, Sarah asked if it would be possible for them to see the inside of the house.  The guard's entire manner shifted.  "No, no, boss very… no, he not like, only business men come to house, only business… boss very not like…"

            "He's private?" prompted Sarah.

            "Yes!  Private!  Only business, no friends – I see TV I see friends!"

            Confused, Sarah nodded for him to continue.

            "American friends.  New York.  Friends!"

            "Oh, the TV show!" Frank realized suddenly.

            "Yes!  I love!" cried the guard.

            "I love it!" exclaimed Sarah.  "And you like it, too!  Wow!  Small world!"

            The conversation soon wound down, and Spencer and Sarah walked away.

            "I bet they're in there," said Lach.

            "Maybe, but it could just be some rich recluse."

            "We need more information," decided Lach.

            Frank nodded.  "I'll contact the Agency when we get back, see if they can track down the 'boss' of the building.  Maybe tomorrow Dad and Joe can go visit that guard.  He sure was chatty, wasn't he?"

            Before she went to bed that night, Lach checked her secure e-mail on the laptop she'd got from the Agency.  Waiting for her was a report on the building she and Frank had visited that morning.

            They'd tracked the owner down, but it had taken a lot of work.  The house was owned by a network of companies that eventually connected to a front for Wassa operations.

            The report also included rudimentary building plans, a promise of surveillance by undercover agents, and a suggested course of action.

            In three days, on Thursday, the tour group was scheduled to have the entire day to spend as they wished.  On that day, Lach would return to the front gate of the mansion and engage in conversation with the guards for as long as possible.  The Hardys would be stationed around the neighbourhood, observing.  The agents would attempt to gain entry by one of the back doors.

            Lach fell asleep smiling.

            The next two days seemed interminable to Joe.  He was bored with being a tourist and wanted to get on with the detective work.

            Thursday morning, Joe was awake before his alarm went off, possibly for the first time ever, and he and Fenton went down for breakfast at seven-thirty.  They said hello to Spencer, who was just leaving the room.

            Soon they were walking through the now-familiar streets.  Fenton and Joe had a planned argument over revisiting a museum, and they separated.  Joe stationed himself at a sidewalk café with a good view of the mansion.  Fenton snuck out the back entrance of the museum and climbed to the roof of a nearby apartment block in time to see Lachlan wander towards the gates.

            Frank appeared to be window-shopping, though he was really watching the mansion's reflection in the windows.  He wondered if he'd be able to pick out the agents from the rest of the people on the street.  He glanced at his watch and discovered that the agents were to have entered the building fifteen minutes earlier.  He hadn't seen any activity at the house, and he hoped that no news was good news.

            Lach was a fairly taciturn person, but she'd got a lot of practise being talkative over the past few days.  Still, her conversation with the young guard was on the verge of drying up.

            Desperate, she turned to the other guard, who had yet to speak.  "So, how long have you been working here?" she inquired.

            "He not speak English," said the young guard, and Sarah looked quite disappointed.  She recovered nicely, however, and began telling stories about her language difficulties while travelling in France and speaking Quebecois French.

            It seemed to Fenton that the mansion was abandoned.  Like his son, he assumed no news was good news, but he really wished that his cell phone would ring, and the agents would tell him how things were going.

            Joe was on the verge of exploding.  He'd drunk four cups of tea, and had to go to the washroom something awful.  However, he didn't want to leave his post for fear of missing something.  Upon further reflection, he figured that if he did use the facilities, Murphy's Law would take over, the agents would make the rescue, and as soon as he sat down at his table again, his cell phone would chirp and inform that he could go home.

            Tempting fate, Joe rose from his chair.

            Frank nearly leapt out of his skin when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.  He answered it, and discovered that he'd received a text message in code.  It read:  "Let's party, we won the game!"

            Grinning, Frank hung up.  Suddenly, he began sprinting down the sidewalk, shoving people aside.  He darted out into traffic, drawing shouts and honks.  Reaching the end of the block, he turned and ran back.

            "Ah, I've got to go meet my friend, I'm sorry, good bye!"  Lach hurried around the corner and entered a large shop.  When no one was looking, she pulled the fire alarm.

            Fenton removed a bag of rocks from his camera case and took careful aim at a first-storey window across the street.  It shattered, and he pitched another stone.

            Joe's phone began vibrating as he set down his backpack on the washroom floor.  By the time he finished relieving himself, it had stopped.

            Once Lach figured she had wreaked enough havoc, she began walking to the American Embassy.  She walked quickly, hoping that she would soon see David and Ruth James.

            It seemed to Joe that the city was noisier than it had been five minutes earlier, but maybe he was imagining things.  He checked his watch.  What was taking the agents so long?

            Fenton watched several people scramble into the delivery truck he was driving, and as soon as the door shut, he hit the gas.  He didn't look at his passengers until he was safely in the U.S. Embassy parking lot.  He turned in his seat.  "Well?"

            He was answered by four very broad, unprofessional grins.


	10. Chapter 10

I don't own any of the Hardys.

            "Where's Joe?" worried Frank.

            "Maybe he got lost," said Lach.  She was too happy to be concerned.

            The mission had been a success.  The agents had rescued their kidnapped colleagues, and then a CIA team had descended upon the building and captured everybody inside.  It would take some time for all the confiscated equipment and paperwork to be analyzed, but, for all intents and purposed, they seemed to have hit the jackpot and neutralized Wassa headquarters.

            "I know I shouldn't want revenge but am I ever glad I've got it!  The guys who killed my parents, who kidnapped Michael and Patrick and a bunch of government agents, have been caught!"  Lach's eyes brimmed with tears, but Frank didn't notice.  He was dialing his brother's number.

            "Joe!" he almost shouted.

            "Frank?  What's happening?"

            "Where are you?  Get over here right away!"

            "Huh?  Where's here?" asked Joe, completely confused.

            "Didn't you get the message?  Come to the embassy, now!"

            "Message?"  Joe took the phone away from his ear and looked at it.  He noticed a line of print blinking on the screen:  "One new message."

            "Uh, Frank?  I guess I missed the message… I'll explain when I get there.  I'm leaving now."

            Frank hung up, shaking his head.  "That boy.  Too often, I have to remind myself that Joe actually is smart.  He gets into so many hare-brained situations…"  Quite suddenly, he noticed Lach's tears.  "Oh!  Are you… will you be all right?"

            Lach turned her shining eyes to his and didn't speak.  She raised her hands to her face and nodded.

            Lachlan lay on the Hardys' couch, watching the ten o'clock news.  The anchor mentioned the recent bankruptcies of a couple of Boston courier companies and the resulting impact on the harbour, and the memories came flooding back.  Almost five months had passed since Lach had returned from Saudi Arabia, and she was doing a good job of ignoring the events of June and July, but sometimes she felt that those months would haunt her for the rest of her life.  

Lachlan and Frank were attending New York University, and were currently home for the Thanksgiving holiday.  Joe had surprised himself and had earned all A's on his first-term report card.  Since Frank had left home, his life had become much emptier, and he could spend more time on his studies.  Fenton had spent most of the fall in either Riyadh or Boston, working with the Agency to completely unravel the far-reaching threads of the Wassa organization.

David and Ruth decided to take a year off working, and live off their substantial income and remuneration from the Agency, in order to spend time with Michael and Patrick.  Both boys were recovering fairly well from their kidnapping, and had not been told the extent of their parents' harrowing experience.

Lachlan turned off the television and padded into the kitchen.  She cut herself a piece of cake that Joe had made.  He'd turned out to be an eager student of hers in the summer, and had practised quite a bit in the autumn.  Lach poured herself a glass of milk and found Laura reading in bed.

"Laura?"  Lach said, sitting beside her and wrapping an afghan around her shoulders.  "In most of the cases that Fenton and Frank and Joe work on, is anybody kidnapped?"

"Well, no.  Sometimes they're kidnapped, but not very frequently.  Why?"

Ignoring the question, Lach posed another of her own.  "Are people killed very often in the course of the investigation?"

"No.  I suppose they work murder cases a fair bit, but nobody else dies, usually.  Lachlan, why are you asking me these questions?"

In a whisper, Lach answered, "I just wanted to make sure that what I've been through… that I'm one of very few people in this world."


End file.
